


Lukewarm Bathwater

by UAs_Fics



Category: South Park
Genre: M/M, One-Shot, Talk of mental illness and suicide, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 03:29:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19715341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UAs_Fics/pseuds/UAs_Fics
Summary: Kyle knows Stan can handle his emotional downswings just fine on his own, or he thought he knew that until he came home to find Stan in a tub of lukewarm bathwater still wearing his boxers.





	Lukewarm Bathwater

**Author's Note:**

> If you are struggling with thoughts of self-harm, you can check out this [ list of hotlines for help.](https://cwanky.tumblr.com/post/163379039508/us-helplines-depression-hotline-1-630-482-9696nofollow)

“Go talk to Stan, now.”

Kyle held the phone from his ear. He stared down at it for a few seconds as his brain tried to comprehend the order. He placed it back pinned between his shoulder and ear as he organized papers.

“What? Why? Stan’s sleeping. He works nights.”

Wendy groaned into the phone. “You haven’t talked to him much lately, have you?”

“No? I work days, and the last few weekends, one of us has been busy. We don’t need to talk every day to be happy together, Wendy.” Kyle hoped she could hear the eye roll in his tone. She knew he was working. Besides, Stan wasn’t her problem anymore. They broke up last year.

“Don’t start, Kyle. I’ve told you a million times I am fine with how Stan and I ended.” Wendy heaved a sigh. “Look, I didn’t want to do this, but I have to. Stan’s been texting me...”

Kyle froze, his heart skipping a beat. Stan was texting her? Well, there was nothing wrong with that, per se. As Wendy said, they were still friends, even if they were exes, but then why would Wendy call to tell him, unless…

“What was it about?” 

“He’s depressed.”

Kyle scoffed. “Oh, that’s all? Why’d you worry me like that?”

“Kyle!” Wendy’s tone was full of irritation. He winced. He had misspoken.

“What? Stan gets down in the dumps every few months. It’s no big deal. He’ll call in sick for work and sleep it off.” He picked up some papers and tapped them into an orderly stack.

“You are a complete ignoramus!” Wendy shouted, making him jump. His phone fell from his shoulder to his desk with a clatter. With a swear, he picked it back up. Luckily, he hadn’t disconnected the call.

“Easy on the yelling," He told her. "Maybe when you and Stan were together, you needed to coddle him through it, but that’s not how he and I work. I give him his space to work everything out and he gives me mine. We’re a well-oiled machine like that.”

Wendy hissed a breath. “Damn, he must really love you to put up with this.”

“Put up with what?” 

He heard her shuffling on the other end of the line. Thinking she might have meant to hang up on him, he went to end the call on his end, when Wendy’s voice came through.

“Kyle, please, listen to me,” Wendy spoke slowly, choosing her words carefully. “Don’t take offense to this, but you are _shit_ at emotional support. You have no skills in that category what so ever.”

Kyle nearly expressed his distinct offense but forced himself to stay quiet. 

When he didn’t reply, she went on, “You have never been good at helping Stan through his emotional swings. Not when we were kids and not now. I want you to know that. Usually, it was the other way around. Stan was the one calming you down.”

“Uh-huh.” Kyle rested his chin in his hands. “So, what? Stan is a grown man. He can handle feeling sad sometimes.”

“He has a mental illness, Kyle!” Wendy snapped, exasperated. “Those aren’t as easy to work through as you think.”

“Mind over matter,” Kyle replied. “He can handle it.”

“Then why has he been texting me constantly over the past few days? I have logs and logs of chats from Stan about how he's feeling, and none of them are particularly good.” She sighed, her voice growing soft. “Kyle, Stan needs emotional support right now, and I don’t know how comfortable it would be for you if his support was me. He needs you to show you care enough to help him.”

“Of course, I care.” Kyle instantly responded. “I love him.”

She hummed in an unsure tone, which irritated Kyle to no end. He was Stan’s super best friend _and_ his boyfriend. He knew what Stan needed better than she did, but, still, something about Stan texting Wendy about his feelings left a pit in his stomach.

“Fine.” Kyle opened his desk drawer for a file folder. “I’ll go check on him and prove to you he doesn’t need me to get over it.”

With a smile in her voice, Wendy thanked him and hung up.

Kyle rolled his eyes and pulled up Stan’s contact. He pressed to dial then held it to his ear. With any luck, Stan would answer, tell him everything was hunky-dory and Kyle wouldn’t have to leave work early.

The phone rang and rang until his voice mail picked up. Kyle held the phone away from his face with a frown. That was unusual. Stan always answered him. 

Maybe he was still sleeping, so Kyle called him again, and again, all to the same result.

Running a hand through his hair, Kyle shoved his phone in his pocket before heading to tell his boss he was leaving.

* * *

The kitchen light was on and so was the hallway leading to the bathroom, but not in the living room. Kyle wandered carefully through the maze of mismatch chairs and the couch that made up their living room furniture until he came to the kitchen.

A half-made sandwich sat on a plate surrounded by mustard, a head of lettuce, sliced ham, and an open jar of mayonnaise. The mayonnaise on the bread had turned a translucent yellow color. Kyle wrinkled his nose before quickly putting the lettuce, sliced ham, and mustard back into the refrigerator. He wasn’t sure he trusted the open mayonnaise anymore, so he just screwed the top on.

The half finished sandwich he threw away in the trash. 

Setting the plate in the sink, Kyle wandered down the hallway. A light shone out from under the bathroom door. 

He tapped his knuckles against the wood.

“Stan? Stan, are you in here?”

Water sloshed before Stan replied, “Kyle? What are you doing home?”

“I...No reason.” Kyle chewed his lip. “Can I come in?”

“I’m in the bath.”

“I’ve already seen everything there is to see, dude, and I did like what I saw.”

He’d hoped to get a laugh out of that, but nothing came. Ice settled in Kyle’s stomach as he reached for the knob and twisted. It was unlocked, so he wandered in.

Stan stared at him from the corner of a filled bathtub with a startled expression that reminded Kyle of a raccoon he once caught digging through the trashcans outside the back of his house. He tensed but soon relaxed back into the water.

They hadn’t seen each other much lately. Nothing more than passing each other when one was heading for work while the other was coming home. Even so, how had Kyle not noticed how run down Stan looked? His face drooped with deep bags under his eyes. Even in the bath, his hair was shiny with grease. When was the last time Stan properly shaved his face? There was an attempt made, but a very weak one. Patches of wiry black hair covered his face like poke-a-dots along his chin. 

“Hey,” Kyle greeted, stepping close.

“Hey.” Stan waved at him, but there was no enthusiasm behind it. “Did you get fired?”

“No, I just didn’t feel like working.” 

“That’s how you get fire, you know.”

Stan had on his boxer shorts in the tub. _Why_ did he have on his boxer shorts in the tub? 

His foot hit an empty container of dish soap. Did Stan use _dish soap_ to make a bubble bath? Well, if he did, he did it a while ago. Not a single bubble floated along the water’s surface.

“Stan, are you ok?” Kyle's lips turned down.

“Me? I’m fine.” He shrugged. “Just thought I’d take a bath and relax.”

Kyle sat down on the rim of the tub and stuck his hand in. His frown deepened.

“This is lukewarm at best."

“I’ve been relaxing for a long time. You can come in if you want.” Stan sprawled out with his arms spread along the edges. He tried to flash a flirtatious smile at him, but it came out as more tired than anything else.

Kyle’s chest squeezed as Wendy’s words played back in his head. Now that he thought about it, Kyle never bothered to pay attention to Stan when he got like this. He left Stan to mope by himself since it was a pain to listen to him whine and sigh.

Now he regretted that decision.

“Stan, Wendy called me.” He reached over to set a hand on Stan’s open palm. His fingers were wrinkled terribly, another statement to how long Stan had been in there.

“Oh? Why?” He jerked his hand back into the water, resting both his palms on his boxer-covered upper thighs. 

Kyle cut to the chase. “Are you having a depressive episode?”

Stan scoffed. “No. What? I’m fine, just overworked, thus the bath. This is all normal stuff, dude. Nothing to worry about.” He gestured to the water around him.

“Stan,” Kyle pointed, “you took a bath in your boxers. Normal people don’t take baths in their boxers.” 

Stan flinched. “Oh. I, um, I forgot.”

Worry gripped his stomach, crushing the block of ice into sharp splinters that stabbed at his insides. Either Stan was lying to him, or Wendy was, and Wendy had no reason to lie about this.

The urge to get up and walk out of the bathroom nearly overtook Kyle. He clenched his hands into fists on his knees and curled his toes in his shoes to keep himself rooted to the spot. No, he was not going to leave Stan alone like this. Not this time. His boyfriend needed him.

“Stan, please, tell me if something is wrong,” Kyle pleaded. “I’ll listen. I’ll help. Just tell me what to do.”

Stan squirmed, lowering himself down into the water until only from his nose up peeked out. His eyes never left the wall.

He lifted his head just enough to mutter, “It’ll be fine. I’ll get over it.” He forced another smile then made a shooing motion with his hand. 

Kyle chewed his lower lip then stood. “Ok, then.” He took three steps before he stopped. “No. Not ‘ok’.” He spun back around and marched over. Kicking off his shoes then pulling off his socks, Kyle stepped right into the tub, slacks, shirt, and all.

Stan shifted back, both in surprise and in an attempt to make room, when Kyle placed his hands on either side of him, boxing him in.

“Now who’s the not normal one?” Stan pinched at his wet shirt between his finger and thumb. His determined expression did not shift from Stan’s joke.

“What is wrong? How can I fix it?” Kyle demanded, leaving no room for arguments.

Stan scanned over his face then looked away. “Mental illness isn’t something you can fix, Kyle.” He murmured. “There’s no more a cure for what I have than there is for your diabetes. I know that’s frustrating for you but that’s how it is.”

“Frustrating for me?” Kyle fell back to his knees. “I’m not the one moping around in a bathtub channeling my inner prune.”

Was calling this moping a good idea? That’s what he always called it, but was he hurting Stan’s feelings when he did? He made a mental note to ask later when Stan felt a little better.

Stan laughed once, softly. “Kyle, no offense, but you have the emotional support capabilities of a rock. You want things to follow your nice, logical path, and if they don’t follow that path, you get frustrated and leave.” He held up his hand when Kyle opened his mouth to counter. “Don’t try to argue with that. I’ve been with you since we were toddlers. I know what I’m talking about.”

Kyle’s mouth snapped shut. His face burned as red as his curls.

“Am I that bad?” He asked with a wince already on his face for the answer.

“You’re not good,” Stan replied, setting a hand on his forearm, “Remember when I went through a goth phase? Your logical idea of replacing Wendy failed and you got mad about it, or in high school, when my parents got divorced again and you kind of washed your hands with me until I worked everything out?”

Kyle nearly pointed out that he had been in the right in both those situations, but stopped himself. Maybe he hadn’t been.

The first one, Kyle had to admit he might have overreacted. He’d never been broken up with before. Finding a new girlfriend seemed like a logical step, like replacing an old toy with a new one. 

As for high school, well, he was going through his own problems. He didn’t want to be dragged down with Stan’s, but, looking back, maybe that was a bit of a douche move on his part to throw his hands up and walk away.

“That’s only two times,” Kyle defended.

“When I was diagnosed with Aspergers, when my grandpa passed away, Cartman’s whole deal with his anxiety disorder--”

“Hey, Cartman was using his as an excuse to be a dick.” Kyle cut in. “What you went through was different.”

“Was it?” Stan sat up a little straighter. “I’m not going to lie and say Cartman wasn’t abusing his diagnosis to get away with shit more often than not, because he totally was, but did you _really_ see a difference between what he pulled and me? Was him ignoring everyone to be on his phone and me canceling plans because I didn't have the energy to go out all that different to you? Before now, I mean?”

He opened his mouth, shut it, opened it again, before sighing. “No. Not really.”

Stan patted his arm. “Emotional support skills of a rock, my dude.”

“I’m sorry, Stan.” Kyle took his hand from his arm and squeezed it. “I shouldn’t have left you when things got hard. Best friend or boyfriend, that’s a dick move. No wonder you stopped telling me when these episodes happened.”

“It wasn’t that you left. It was that--” Stan shook his head. “It was that I thought you thought I was weak for it. I don’t want you to think I’m weak.”

“I’ve never thought you were weak,” Kyle lied. Yes, he did, and now he was kicking himself for it. Stan’s emotional downturns annoyed him and he didn’t understand them, which, yes, frustrated him, but that didn’t make Stan weak. If anything, Kyle felt weaker for not bothering to understand in the first place. 

He shook himself. “Well, I’m here now, and I want to help. I’ll be your rock, but one with amazing support skills and emotional understanding.”

This got a sincere smile from Stan. “You don’t have to if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“Yes, I do.” Kyle fixed his gazed with Stan’s, trying to impress on him that he was going to step up and be better, even if Stan didn’t want him to Stan pulled his hand away and brought his knees to his chest.

When he didn’t reply, Kyle wracked his brain for something to say or do to prove himself. 

“Tell me how you're feeling.” 

Would that help? Talking is supposed to make people feel better, isn’t it? Now Kyle wished he’d asked Wendy what he should do when he went to talk to Stan.

“What are you sad about?” He coaxed, “Please, tell me.”

Stan rested his chin on his knees. “I’m not sad, not really.”

“You’re depressed.” 

“I have depression. That doesn’t always mean I’m sad.” Stan took a breath. “Right now, for example, it’s feeling hopeless about my life that's the problem.”

“Hopeless?” Kyle echoed. “What’s there to feel hopeless about? You’ve got a job. You’re in your twenties and have a group of close friends still. Your life is far from hopeless.”

Stan raised a shoulder in a half shrug. “I know, but that doesn’t mean I still don’t feel hopeless and like a failure. There was so much I wanted to have accomplished by now that I haven't.” He pursed his lips before slowly and quietly asking, “Do you remember that Pip kid in elementary school?”

Kyle nodded. He couldn’t recall Pip’s face, but he remembered him well enough regardless.

“He died trying to save everyone. Like a hero.” Stan shut his eyes. “I’ve been thinking I wish that it had been me. He should have lived to go on to do great things. He wouldn’t have been wasting his life like I am. I should have died, not him.”

The ice shards in his stomach reformed into a knife and stabbed at Kyle’s chest. He had to force air into his lungs, feeling a stab of pain when he did.

“Stan, are you...” He swallowed. “Are you saying you want to die?”

Stan opened his eyes. God, he looked so tired. Where was his energy? Where was his life? Why were his eyes dull and glassy like a dead fish's?

“I don’t want to die,” He whispered, as if he were scared speaking to loud would hurt him. “I just don’t want to feel like this anymore.” He curled in on himself. “I’m really tired, Kyle. I won't do it, but, still, I want it to stop.”

“I don’t understand,” Kyle replied honestly. “It will stop. These episodes don’t last forever.”

“They don’t.” Stan smiled grimly. “It’s like—well think of it like this: you’re driving down the freeway and you miss your turn. You could keep driving until you near an off-ramp and turn around. That’s how you’re supposed to do it. But sometimes you can’t help but think it would be faster to drive across the grass and through the fence in between the two freeways.

“It wouldn’t take as long, even if you might damage your car or get arrested for it. You’ll probably hurt or piss off other people, too, but at least you don’t have to wait as long to get to your destination. It’s not logical or a good idea, and you know that, but the thought is still there, egging you on. You just can’t help it.” Stan paused, peeking at Kyle thought his eyelashes. “Does that make sense?”

“A little, I guess.” Kyle whistled through his teeth. “Do you want to get out now? We can keep talking when I’m not, ah...” He held out his arms. Water poured off his sleeves back into the tub. “Yeah.”

* * *

His hair still dripped, but at least Kyle had on clean, warm sweat pants and an old, comfortable shirt. 

In the few moments of privacy Kyle had while Stan emptied the tub and put on his dry clothes, he quickly googled what to do to help Stan out. By some stroke of luck, he was able to find a checklist that seemed trustworthy enough to employ. 

He came into their bedroom to find Stan laying on the bed in just dry boxers, his eyes shut and breathing slow. Kyle watched him. He didn't look so different now. Maybe it wasn't fully Kyle's lack of observational skills that he didn't see how bad Stan got.

“Here,” He held out the cup of apple juice, “drink this, and,” He offered a cup of yogurt, “eat this. It’ll help.”

Stan peeked open his eyes at him before pushing himself up. “Thanks.” He took the offered drink and sipped before grabbing the yogurt with his other hand. After setting the juice down, Stan put a spoonful of yogurt in his mouth, then, like a hungry beast, he gobbled up the rest.

“Did you eat today?” Kyle asked.

“When I got up, I had a hot pocket, but it was a few hours ago,” Stan admitted around a mouthful of yogurt. 

“I’ll cook something in a bit then,” Kyle promised as Stan set the yogurt down to retrieve the juice. According to the alarm clock, it was only four forty. Did that count as day or night? The list said something about wearing clean clothes for the day time and comfortable PJs for the night. Were Stan’s PJs even clean? 

Shelving that particular list item away, Kyle sat on the bed with his arms lazily set on his knees.

“Did you take your medication today?” Kyle asked.

Stan chuckled nervously, hiding his mouth behind the glass. “Um, no. I was feeling pretty good until recently and didn’t refill my prescription.” He admitted, setting the near empty glass by the yogurt. “Oops?”

“Don’t 'oops' me.” Kyle rolled his eyes. “If I have to take pills for my blood sugar to stay stable, you have to take yours to keep your brain chemistry stable.” He looked at the clock again. “We still have time to go to the pharmacy if you get some pants on.”

If they did that, Kyle could check both ‘stretch legs’ and ‘get in clean clothes’ off the list. Stan cringed.

“But I’m comfortable.” He purposefully snuggled down. “Tomorrow’s Saturday, and I already got a friend to cover my shift tonight, so we could go together in the morning.” With a smile, Stan wrapped his arms around Kyle’s waist and lifted him, only to fall back. He buried his face in the crook of his neck.

“Let’s stay here for a while and get cozy.”

His hair was still greasy with white flecks of dandruff near his scalp. His chin hair scraped against Kyle’s skin, but Kyle didn’t mind. 

The list said snuggle with a living thing. Kyle was, in fact, a living thing, so he twisted around and moved his arms to looped them around his shoulders. Stan coiled his hands into Kyle's shirt, pulling him closer and mumbling how warm he was. Kyle breathed a single laugh before setting his chin on the top of his head. 

“Stan, I am sorry I didn’t try to understand your feelings.” He muttered into his ear. “I will do better, but be patient with me. Old habits die hard.”

Stan chuckled and kissed his cheek. “I know. I’ll work on making sure to tell you before things get this bad next time.” He snuggled closer and Kyle held him tighter, vowing he would become the best emotional support Stan would ever have.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> I didn’t make up the list. It’s a real thing you can [ check out here.](https://anxiety-depression-recovery.tumblr.com/post/166369673000/selfcarepropaganda-dan-mcneely-going-thru)
> 
> Anyway, I think I’ve mentioned this on at least one of my blogs that the reason I don’t really ship style is that I don’t think Kyle can handle Stan on an emotional level, but the concept of Kyle learning how to handle him? Very fun to play around with in this circumstance.


End file.
